tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-49941911851928754622018-08-21T20:09:04.191-07:00I Am LedginLedginhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02225949607641172720noreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4994191185192875462.post-71957152091470922492011-02-01T20:17:00.000-08:002011-02-05T12:30:39.095-08:00Deeply Thinking Seagulls: Part 5<span style="font-size:100%;">A Valentine's Edition of Deeply Thinking Seagulls. Thanks to complete stranger Mark Hancock for inspiring me to continue this pointless endeavor.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/TU2yKsV-uaI/AAAAAAAABWE/ns4O5-Oaqj8/s1600/IMG_0960.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/TU2yKsV-uaI/AAAAAAAABWE/ns4O5-Oaqj8/s400/IMG_0960.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5570304210898958754" border="0" /></a><br /><style>@font-face { font-family: "Times New Roman"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }table.MsoNormalTable { font-size: 10pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1</style><br /><style>@font-face { font-family: "Times New Roman"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }table.MsoNormalTable { font-size: 10pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Valentine’s Day approaches again – that foolish human invention that profits by exploiting <u>another</u> absurd invention: “true love.” Mankind is like a never-ending human centipede – ingesting with its mouth the soiled and diluted outpourings of its own anus. And happy to do it, yes sir! Pathetic.<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Still, I suppose this is as sufficient a time as any for some yearly reflection – on intimacy; on companionship; and yes, yes, okay – on <i>romance</i></span><span style="font-size:100%;">. My dear god*, even one as cynical as I at times wants for that familiar stirring of desire’s strange brew…Hang on – is that a DEAD WORM CARCASS?!? No. Sorry, false alarm…</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Times;font-size:100%;" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">On romance then. My question is as follows: does any truth lie within that trite phrase scrawled by a dying human in a film who's title I've forgotten? Is "happiness <i>only real when shared</i></span><span style="font-size:100%;">?"</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">No…no. NO. I REJECT THE PREMISE that I – Thelonius Stonewall Proust III – that <u>I</u> am not enough for myself. I do not <i>need</i></span><span style="font-size:100%;">. The word <i>need</i></span><span style="font-size:100%;"> itself begs for something – a weakening of the proverbial heartstrings. It is the song of the siren of death. The death of the soul. Okay, that IS a dead worm carcass. I better go snatch it up before the tide comes in. L’sigh. It’s just as well. A small bite always makes me feel better. Or I should say…it always makes me <i>feel</i></span><span style="font-size:100%;">. Perhaps afterwards I’ll go nosh on a sea star.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">I am so alone.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">*Though an atheist, I don’t deny myself the figure of speech</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p>Ledginhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02225949607641172720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4994191185192875462.post-72871336532224891502009-11-26T19:56:00.000-08:002009-11-26T20:03:15.579-08:00Deeply Thinking Seagulls: Part 4<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span><br />Thanks to Kristin Speranza for the photo! Happy Thanksgiving, three people who read my blog!<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/Sw9OsQZaJUI/AAAAAAAABT8/lMgCN1Bxbm8/s1600/SeagullFromKristen.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/Sw9OsQZaJUI/AAAAAAAABT8/lMgCN1Bxbm8/s400/SeagullFromKristen.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408628199718004034" border="0" /></a><br /><br />"I'm thankful that the arbitrary needle on the wheel of Man's will landed on 'turkey' instead of 'seagull' when he was planning an annual genocide. Thanks a lot, Man. You fucking hypocrite."Ledginhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02225949607641172720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4994191185192875462.post-1969279588336002042009-10-29T10:10:00.000-07:002009-10-29T10:46:12.720-07:00Deeply Thinking Seagulls: Part 3<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SunNjd_p9cI/AAAAAAAABT0/6jLUS5ssCbk/s1600-h/DeeplyThinkingSeagull3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SunNjd_p9cI/AAAAAAAABT0/6jLUS5ssCbk/s400/DeeplyThinkingSeagull3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398071637610984898" border="0" /></a><br />Once in a while,* I get caught in this cyclical pattern of existential pondering. It vacillates between - at worst - bemusement at the foolish joke us seagulls know as "life," and - at best - a deep reverence for the sensations of interconnectedness that wash over me like so many droplets of the vast ocean I call my home.** And between these inexorable trail ends that mark the path of consciousness for all higher beings, I fill in the gaps with the actions I suppose are expected of me. And I'm becoming increasingly aware that therein lies the evidence supporting a more dismal perspective. To wit: I fly. I eat. I poop. I fly. I eat. I poop. I FLY. I EAT. I POOP. I FLY!!! I EAT!!! I POOP!!!!!<br /><br />Sometimes I want to kill myself.<br /><br /><br />*I refer (of course) to a seagull 'while,' not a human 'while,' which is (quite unjustly) five times (or more!) longer on average.<br />**It's possible I am the only creature to be comforted by his home in such an active manner! ;)Ledginhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02225949607641172720noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4994191185192875462.post-86196799631491413152009-10-07T16:43:00.001-07:002009-10-07T17:16:07.292-07:00Deeply Thinking Seagulls: Part 2<span style="font-family:times new roman;">Enjoy this installment of Deeply Thinking Seagulls from iamledgin guest blogger Justin Shanes...</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/Ss0uSC-4yUI/AAAAAAAABTs/Y6wXEuD_TlU/s1600-h/seagull+pic.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/Ss0uSC-4yUI/AAAAAAAABTs/Y6wXEuD_TlU/s400/seagull+pic.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390015216605514050" border="0" /></a><br /><p><span style="font-family:Cambria;font-size:100%;">"How do I say this without sounding self-loathing? Without the other gulls dismissing me as fretful or, worse yet: <i>haughty</i>! But watching these humans, I can’t help but register a feeling of… envy. Pitching and bobbing among the undulating waves… kicking up fat chunks of sand as they frolick along the shore… sharing a kiss above plush striped towels. They all seem so positively happy. And what of me? This is my home. I live and breathe this beach. Why do I not derive the same pleasure from the plangent crash of the waves at low tide? Why do I not giggle at the burrowing crabs?</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Cambria;font-size:100%;">Don’t get me wrong. I still revel in the sight of a torn garbage bag, the loosed contents offering up delicious morsels of mayo-gobbed tuna fish. Nor am I too proud to enjoy the perfect deployment of fecal matter atop a baby’s head or the bridge of a chattering debutante’s nose. But such moments are the exception. The rule, I’m afraid, is a gray and secular monotony.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Cambria;font-size:100%;">Perhaps the answer is simple: you’re jaded, Cecile. Yet there are seagulls here twice – nay, three times – as old as I am, and from them I hear no complaints. So, then, maybe a simpler answer: you’re flawed. Not the universe, not this existence. You. Cecile. Damaged goods. The one that flew over the cuckoo’s nest.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Cambria;font-size:100%;">No! I shall not accept that. That’s what society wants me to think. That seagulls are good for ransacking toppled pails and cacophonic squawking and nothing else. Is it hubris to aspire to something more than <i>that</i>? Oh, the cruel irony, that humans view these wings as symbols of freedom. My wings are shackles! That they are adorned with feathers makes it none the less so.</span><br /></p> <span style="font-family:Cambria;font-size:100%;">I’ll probably do nothing. Shake off these dark thoughts and live to nosedive for errant bread crust another day. That’s the sad part. That even after admitting this there is no catharsis. This confession has meant nothing. A little girl with sunburned shoulders is spilling Fritos out of an oversized bag. I supposed I should go jockey for a bite…."</span> <!--EndFragment--> <!--EndFragment-->Ledginhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02225949607641172720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4994191185192875462.post-23826907081938348262009-10-06T15:36:00.000-07:002009-10-06T15:51:49.465-07:00Deeply Thinking Seagulls: Part 1<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SsvHw0YCnRI/AAAAAAAABTc/ZuVUreYYoAs/s1600-h/IMG_0959.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SsvHw0YCnRI/AAAAAAAABTc/ZuVUreYYoAs/s400/IMG_0959.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389621020586056978" border="0" /></a><br />"What is this impenetrable mystery we call 'ocean?'...What secrets does it hide?...I could really go for stale bread crust right now...Is there a God?"Ledginhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02225949607641172720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4994191185192875462.post-23230492697110802072009-09-28T01:28:00.000-07:002009-09-28T11:39:33.234-07:00Got Plagiarism?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SsB2rWVyzJI/AAAAAAAABTU/EkKIIXrajTY/s1600-h/GotSoccer.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 124px; height: 124px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SsB2rWVyzJI/AAAAAAAABTU/EkKIIXrajTY/s400/GotSoccer.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386435641438555282" border="0" /></a>A little part of my faith in humanity dies every time I see a new bastardization of the "Got Milk?" campaign. Apparently the Milk people were unable to trademark the slogan "Got __?" (since it's basically a question every company needs answered). This legal snafu has resulted in countless dumb billboards (and buttons, bumper stickers, etc.) including "Got Insurance?"(okay) or "Got Tires?" (come on now) or, I shit you not, "Got God?" (STOP). I guess Jesus knows a good deal on a free slogan when he sees one. Even the most absurdly lame rip-offs, however, have not prepared me for what I recently saw in the aisles of Costco. Behold:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SsB1tHu-8QI/AAAAAAAABTM/enKTiTTCwGk/s1600-h/photo%284%29.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 262px; height: 349px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SsB1tHu-8QI/AAAAAAAABTM/enKTiTTCwGk/s400/photo%284%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386434572365787394" border="0" /></a><br />This is real. This is fucking real. Someone suggested putting this slogan on a box of...I don't know, neck cream?...and some other EXECUTIVE thought that was a good idea and went with it. Then some wholesale buyer for Costco AGREED and bought like ten million large boxes of them. "Got Turkey Neck?" That's what this says, just to be clear. I wanted to make sure that we were looking at the same thing. Cool.<br /><br />I am delighted to find out that I can still be surprised by the world. And by "the world," I mean Costco.<br /><br />I am Ledgin.Ledginhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02225949607641172720noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4994191185192875462.post-67541486454498995962009-08-12T23:12:00.000-07:002009-09-28T11:41:29.519-07:00Nookie Nookie Nookie NookieCan anyone explain to me why I like this? Because it's really upsetting me that I do.<br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/6Jlv8F9cerA&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/6Jlv8F9cerA&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br />I fear that the answer is "I'm racist." But I really hope not. Maybe it's just that she's so confused about what the funny thing is in this video, and I like that.<br /><br />I am saying "Nookie" over and over inside my head.<br /><br />I am Ledgin.Ledginhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02225949607641172720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4994191185192875462.post-1171683468742330262009-07-30T12:28:00.000-07:002009-07-30T12:45:08.777-07:00Dog Bites Penis<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SnH4NeksFJI/AAAAAAAABTE/eL66_waOXUg/s1600-h/HungryDog.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 121px; height: 123px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SnH4NeksFJI/AAAAAAAABTE/eL66_waOXUg/s400/HungryDog.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364341541603906706" border="0" /></a><br />I mean...do I really need to add anything to that description? Fine, I will. Dog Bites Penis of Small Child. Now watch.<br /><br /><div align="center"><span id="doberman-vs-laser-pointer-prank"></span><script type="text/javascript" src="http://clipaday.com/ufo.js"></script><script type="text/javascript"> var FO_2299 = {movie:"http://clipaday.com/flvplayer.swf",width:"425",height:"350",majorversion:"7",build:"0",bgcolor:"#FFFFFF",allowfullscreen:"true",flashvars:"file=http://media1.clipaday.com/embed/m_videos/upload_1248891824.flv.flv&image=http://media1.clipaday.com/embed/m_videos/thumbs/upload_1248891824.jpg&lightcolor=0xF6C230&backcolor=0x000000&frontcolor=0xCCCCCC&logo=http://clipaday.com/images/playerlogo.png&link=http://clipaday.com" };UFO.create(FO_2299,"doberman-vs-laser-pointer-prank");</script></div><br /><br />Thanks Internets, for being a window into the lives of people I don't ever want to associate with on an interactive level.<br /><br />With a responsible owner like this, is it any wonder that this animal has casts on his ears?<br /><br />I am laughing at a small child's pain and humiliation.<br /><br />I am not proud of this.<br /><br />I am Ledgin.Ledginhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02225949607641172720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4994191185192875462.post-59701937964653126462009-07-28T09:16:00.000-07:002009-07-28T10:00:46.429-07:00Thoughts to Get You Through Your Shitty Day<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/Sm8nwrKxNgI/AAAAAAAABSc/0CaHKcuj-oM/s1600-h/Birthirs.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 175px; height: 99px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/Sm8nwrKxNgI/AAAAAAAABSc/0CaHKcuj-oM/s400/Birthirs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363549398396646914" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">A THOUGHT ON RACISM</span></div><div style="text-align: center;">Always remember that '<span style="font-weight: bold;">bigot</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">'</span> is just an 'idi' away from '<span style="font-weight: bold;">big</span> idi<span style="font-weight: bold;">ot</span>.<span style="font-weight: bold;">'</span> What's an 'idi'? I don't know, ask a Jew or an Asian. They're pretty smart.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/Sm8pGxBQyjI/AAAAAAAABSk/AYxAa-9ctnc/s1600-h/AnybodyOutThere.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 180px; height: 180px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/Sm8pGxBQyjI/AAAAAAAABSk/AYxAa-9ctnc/s400/AnybodyOutThere.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363550877436135986" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">A THOUGHT ON THE GREAT BEYOND</span><br /><div style="text-align: center;">I always thought the coolest explanation of our existence would be if we're just some tiny organism in a much bigger organism's universe - like the way we are to ants. But if you were to explain to an ant what goes on up here, I'll bet the ant would be like "Oh." So maybe we shouldn't spend so much time wondering what's out there. It's probably super boring.<br /></div></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/Sm8rSZjGeVI/AAAAAAAABSs/pV0h1WU3LoA/s1600-h/PoopPants.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/Sm8rSZjGeVI/AAAAAAAABSs/pV0h1WU3LoA/s400/PoopPants.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363553276317301074" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">A THOUGHT ON POOPING YOUR PANTS</span><br />Here's what to do if you farted and think you might have pooped your pants. Step 1: check to see if you pooped your pants. Step 2: if yes, wash hands; if no, probably wash hands. Now you know.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I am a super deep thinker.<br /><br />I am Ledgin.<br /></div></div>Ledginhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02225949607641172720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4994191185192875462.post-33657471563555494092009-07-24T10:15:00.000-07:002009-07-24T10:47:49.071-07:00Black vs. White: One Stupid Thing and One Smart Thing<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SmnvQSUAedI/AAAAAAAABSU/MYP5FimzYJY/s1600-h/OreoNecklace.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 116px; height: 116px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SmnvQSUAedI/AAAAAAAABSU/MYP5FimzYJY/s400/OreoNecklace.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362079894433987026" /></a><br /><br />Let's just settle the whole Black/White thing right now on this blog. Ready? Okay, go! <br /><br />It's like......I mean who would even -- I don't......it's just...ok. Hmm.<br /><br />That's way too hard. I'll let these videos do the heavy lifting for me.<br /><br />One is a dissection of Henry Louis Gates, Jr.'s arrest in Cambridge - really smart even though it's stylized like a "Def Politics Jam."<br /><br />The other is called "2 Black-sounding White Gay Dudes." So...yeah.<br /><br />Give them both equal levels of your admiration, attention, and respect. Especially the funny one.<br /><br /><object width="480" height="295"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/YzDyKYYWTtM&hl=en&fs=1&hd=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/YzDyKYYWTtM&hl=en&fs=1&hd=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="295"></embed></object><br /><br /><object width="450" height="370"><param name="movie" value="http://www.ireport.com/themes/custom/resources/swfplayer/mediaplayer.swf"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><param name="menu" value="false"></param><param name="flashvars" value="height=370&width=448&autostart=false&autoscroll=false&showstop=false&showicons=false&showdigits=total&controlbar=34&backcolor=0xFFFFFF&screencolor=0x000000&frontcolor=0xDEDEDE&lightcolor=0x00A2FF&logo=http%3A//www.ireport.com/themes/custom/resources/swfplayer/data/images/ireport_wm.gif&file=http%3A//ht.cdn.turner.com/ireport/big/prod/2009/07/23/WE00302172/1015988/ShameonProfGatesUppityBlacksvsBl-1015988_web_flv.flv&image=http%3A//i.cdn.turner.com/ireport/sm/prod/2009/07/23/WE00302172/1015988/ShameonProfGatesUppityBlacksvsBl-1015988_lg.jpg"></param><embed src="http://www.ireport.com/themes/custom/resources/swfplayer/mediaplayer.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="450" height="370" menu="false" flashvars="height=370&width=448&autostart=false&autoscroll=false&showstop=false&showicons=false&showdigits=total&controlbar=34&backcolor=0xFFFFFF&screencolor=0x000000&frontcolor=0xDEDEDE&lightcolor=0x00A2FF&logo=http%3A//www.ireport.com/themes/custom/resources/swfplayer/data/images/ireport_wm.gif&file=http%3A//ht.cdn.turner.com/ireport/big/prod/2009/07/23/WE00302172/1015988/ShameonProfGatesUppityBlacksvsBl-1015988_web_flv.flv&image=http%3A//i.cdn.turner.com/ireport/sm/prod/2009/07/23/WE00302172/1015988/ShameonProfGatesUppityBlacksvsBl-1015988_lg.jpg"></embed></object><br /><br />I am a racial healer.<br /><br />I am Ledgin.Ledginhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02225949607641172720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4994191185192875462.post-53604087136405262672009-07-23T11:08:00.000-07:002009-07-23T11:25:33.849-07:00Let's Get Married...<object height="344" width="425"><br />...but only if you are willing to turn our wedding party into a Soul Train. I've walked down the aisle as a groomsman in a couple of weddings now. It's pretty boring. Then I saw this.<br /><br /><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/4-94JhLEiN0&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/4-94JhLEiN0&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br />Add "hip hop dance choreographer" to your ever-increasing roster of wedding expenses, everyone!<br /><br />I imagine the groom has been planning and plotting - ever since he watched every 80s movie - to one day lead his own dance crew, even for just one shining moment. Weddings make dreams come true.<br /><br />I am willing to admit I cried when the bride entered.<br /><br />I am Ledgin.Ledginhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02225949607641172720noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4994191185192875462.post-67905868794064377982009-07-22T09:59:00.001-07:002009-07-22T11:02:02.021-07:00The Worst Thing On TV This Week/Ever<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SmdF3h0gs0I/AAAAAAAABSM/YN5nnZDMJyU/s1600-h/MeteorPoster.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 93px; height: 93px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SmdF3h0gs0I/AAAAAAAABSM/YN5nnZDMJyU/s400/MeteorPoster.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361330701681603394" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I am a sucker for Doomsday movies. Not only did I love <span style="font-style: italic;">Armageddon</span> (the movie), I actually hate people who hate it. It's like hating Coldplay - you're just trying to make a point. There's no way you didn't cry when Bruce Willis flashed back to his daughter on a swing set, laugh when Owen Wilson said "Scariest environment imaginable," or swoon when Ben Affleck narrated the Animal Cracker documentary on Liv Tyler's body. Even <span style="font-style: italic;">Armageddon</span>'s sister movie,<span style="font-style: italic;"> Deep Impact </span>contributed something important to the world - it was the first major studio release to soften America to the idea of a Black President. You're welcome, Obama.<br /><br />This is why I was very excited to see NBC's original feature with the simple, campy all-you-need-to-know title, <span style="font-style: italic;">METEOR!!!</span> Emphasis added. I watched it last night, and let me start by saying that about 90 minutes in, I opened my laptop and Googled "meteor terrible" just to see what was out there. That's when I found out that I was actually watching the second part of a FOUR HOUR MINISERIES. I'm usually pretty good at knowing when I've tuned into the middle of a movie, but <span style="font-style: italic;">Meteor</span> was so disjointed and nonsensical that coming into the plot halfway through actually made perfect sense.<br /><br />I regret to inform you that there are no 'Memorable Quotes' filled into <span style="font-style: italic;">Meteor</span>'s IMDB page. That really limits my ability to prove how miraculously awful it was. What are you waiting for, people?? Did you not find the line "My father went out for cigarettes when I was twelve and never came back" memorable? Because <span style="font-style: italic;">I</span> remembered it - from lots of other things that were not <span style="font-style: italic;">Meteor</span>. What about the part where the general is trying to figure out a way to communicate with a space station in orbit, but they don't have an audio feed, and an assistant says "We don't need audio, Sir. Just pulses." And then he says "Good thinking, soldier. Morse Code." Hahaha. Yeah, good thinking. I'm surprised a four-star general didn't think of that.<br /><br />I'm not prone to hyberbole, but his is probably the worst movie ever made. And that's including <span style="font-style: italic;">The Lake House</span>. That being said, there is some decent sound editing. So check it out.<br /><br />I am going to track down Part One of <span style="font-style: italic;">Meteor</span> and watch it tonight.<br /><br />I am serious.<br /><br />I am Ledgin.<br /></div>Ledginhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02225949607641172720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4994191185192875462.post-29799976732113864182009-07-08T09:56:00.001-07:002009-07-08T12:32:09.406-07:00In Plane Sight<div style="text-align: center;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SlTP72TvEYI/AAAAAAAABSE/mYKyDcShV8s/s1600-h/IMG_0275.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 188px; height: 251px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SlTP72TvEYI/AAAAAAAABSE/mYKyDcShV8s/s400/IMG_0275.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356134483947884930" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Should be a good flight!</span><br /></div><br />Pity the burka'd airline traveler. Complain all you want about lugging heavy suitcases, last-minute gate changes, and unnecessary pat-downs - but try dealing with all that while fully cloaked in black from head to toe in the middle of July, battling crotch-and-pit sweat the likes of which I can hardly imagine. Then, when you finally make it on the plane and expect a little cool-down, enjoy the worried sideways glances and unabashed snickering of all your fellow passengers and crewmembers! I consider myself a progressive person, not prone to irrational or racist fears, but I have to admit when I saw this lady board part of me went, "Here we fuckin' go." But just part of me. The rest of me saw this as a hilarious photo opp.<br /><br />Do you think she tried on a bunch of different glasses before settling on that pair? Did she have another contender that she kept holding up to other patrons, going "These...or these? These again...or these?" <span style="font-style: italic;">Uh, I don't know...it really depends what your face looks like.</span> When I buy glasses it takes me several hours to decide on a pair. If it was the only creative choice I got to make about my appearance EVER, I don't know that I would ever pick a frame. But it would make the whole "Scratch Resistance" and "High Index Lens" decisions easier. Yeah, I'll take everything. Everything possible for this one thing I get to have.<br /><br />I spotted this woman in the airport before we boarded. She kind of sticks out in a crowd because of the whole 'ridiculous outfit' thing. Seeing her in the context of a million other normal-dressed humans, I had to wonder if she ever looks around and thinks "Wait a minute...AM I WEIRD?!" Because yes. The answer is yes. I mean, I think that about myself, and I don't look half as weird as this. Sometimes I go out in an outfit that I feel doesn't quite match, and everywhere I go I feel like people are staring at me thinking "Haha, that guy thinks you can wear a yellow shirt with green cargo pants! What a tool!" I can't think about anything but my humiliation until I go home and change. I can't imagine going out in public in a black shirt and pants, let alone a black onesy/glasses combo that makes me look like a near-sighted ghost.<br /><br />This woman is possibly the bravest person I have ever met. And by 'met,' I mean 'cowardly taken a picture of for future mocking.' For this, I salute her - and laugh at how silly she looks.<br /><br />I am nervously wondering if there's any chance this lady reads my blog.<br /><br />I am Ledgin.Ledginhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02225949607641172720noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4994191185192875462.post-86748217277070670222009-05-27T11:15:00.000-07:002009-05-27T11:33:21.749-07:00Back, Baby<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/Sh2GbaQDH5I/AAAAAAAABRs/ezXOKAjuWsA/s1600-h/photo%283%29.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 190px; height: 142px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/Sh2GbaQDH5I/AAAAAAAABRs/ezXOKAjuWsA/s400/photo%283%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340572538592501650" border="0" /></a><br />Ask yourself: am I as excited about anything in my life as this man is about the Dodgers?<br /><br />I doubt it. But here's something to brighten your day. I'm going to start blogging more! More than hardly ever! And as a gesture to show that I mean business, here is a baby alligator:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/Sh2G6Agn6_I/AAAAAAAABR0/soLl0wTQklc/s1600-h/IMG_0251.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 194px; height: 142px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/Sh2G6Agn6_I/AAAAAAAABR0/soLl0wTQklc/s400/IMG_0251.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340573064258644978" border="0" /></a>See? I am super serious you guys.<br /><br />I am Ledgin.Ledginhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02225949607641172720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4994191185192875462.post-91484530370898221762009-03-30T13:15:00.000-07:002009-03-30T14:31:46.505-07:00Biting the Delicious Hand That Feeds You<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SdE34-rOsDI/AAAAAAAABRE/x6zDFaEm1KE/s1600-h/Chainsaw.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 127px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SdE34-rOsDI/AAAAAAAABRE/x6zDFaEm1KE/s400/Chainsaw.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319094086937784370" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />Let me read you a few headlines/excerpts from real news articles I've come across.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Man Killed by Pet Spider:</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />"His black widow, Bettina, is believed to have administered the deadly bite."</span><br /><br />Okay.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Woman killed by pet 13-foot python:</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />"Police said the 25-year-old woman died from asphyxiation. They found the python in the bedroom and described it as agitated."</span><br /><br />Hmm. Agitated. Alright.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Family Blown Up by Domesticated Ticking Time Bomb</span>:<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">"Their father insisted the ticking was just the bomb's way of expressing love."</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /><br />Oh wait. I made that last one up.<br /><br />Why is it <span style="font-style: italic;">news</span> when peopl</span>e's deadly animal pets kill them? As far as I am concerned, the minute you decided you are going to make 'friends' with a 13-foot python, every moment you are <span style="font-style: italic;">alive</span> is news - not the part where the man-eating reptile eats a man.<br /><br />The real shocker here is that in most of these cases, the offending animal is punished for doing what's natural. Take the chimp who recently (tragically) mauled the best friend of a woman who "raised the chimp as her own son." That's what a bunch of different articles said. "Raised the chimp as her own son." Um. WHAT? In my house, I have a chainsaw. I love this chainsaw. I've had it since it was a brand new chainsaw - I store in in a cool, dry place, and whenever it's needed, I oil it and give it proper maintenance. If I ever put the chainsaw next to my friend's face and turn the power on, it is going to rip my friend's face into a million pieces. BUT WHY WOULD IT DO THAT AFTER ALL I'VE DONE FOR IT? Oh, because it's a chainsaw. Not my son. And one thing I forgot to mention. I don't really own a chainsaw. Because those things are dangerous killers.<br /><br />Recently I was watching a report on that awful chimp story that included an audio clip of the 9-1-1 call, and this part struck me as utterly confusing.<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyQdii1kIcBZyWILK_CFo5-6bos20lZ5xH2JDVyk8Lqe7_y3og0pc_QQb9daDBjdeCA6ucbNZDsUsBPFR3T3A' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0' /><br /><br />She says "My chimpanzee!" like having one is the most natural thing in the world. As if the dispatch guy is <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >not</span> supposed to be like "You have a chimpanzee in your house?! WHAT? WHY?!!" Who the fuck do we think we are? Chimps rip faces off. That's what they do. Don't expect them to change because you designed your condo with a soft color palette.<br /><br />It's like that fable about the scorpion and the frog. The frog lets the scorpion ride on his back to cross the river, and the scorpion stings him anyway, drowning them both, because he says it's in his nature. The only difference here is that in that story, it made sense for the frog to trust the scorpion. There is no reason to believe a black widow will feel like it "needs you" in any way. If you do, you are dumber than a fictional frog. Congratulations.<br /><br />I love this line in the python story. <span><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:100%;" >"They found the python in the bedroom and described it as agitated." How about, "they described it as a python." That's enough to scare the shit out of me. And it should have been enough for this lady. No offense.<br /><br /></span></span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:100%;" >I am fondly remembering Steve Irwin as I write this.</span></span><br /><span><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:100%;" ><br />I am feeling guilty for laughing at that clip.<br /><br />I am Ledgin.<br /></span></span>Ledginhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02225949607641172720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4994191185192875462.post-62965066345520890752009-03-05T10:06:00.000-08:002009-03-05T11:59:07.376-08:00Bah: The New BlahWhen you really love something you find on the Internets, it can never have enough views to satisfy you. Unless your favorite video features a happy baby, a contentious baby, or a guy doing dance moves you "totally <span style="font-style: italic;">remember</span> (!)" chances are most people haven't seen it. Case in point...the Bah Lady.<br /><br />The original Bah lady has about 580,000 views after two and a half years online. If it were a TV show, it would be canceled. I defy you to tell me you've ever laughed as hard at <span style="font-style: italic;">The Big Bang Theory</span> as you have at this miraculous confluence of amazingness. Quick back-story: Xbox made a commercial that featured a bunch of people in a train station pulling out guns on each other - but the "guns" were just their hands pointed as guns. Eventually they all unloaded, yeling "bang, bang!" in a huge shoot-em-up scene that was actually pretty cool. Later, an audition tape made it online. It supposedly takes place in Argentina and is seriously brilliant. Bah!<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyOzJZWu9FgHuC7_6RNGPwQXpCHLne5_I5qWEqUL89-mtxkmZiP9nHbRKJGbo-B4P-9-9hrNWNUNLSKHzegsg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0' /><br /><br />I know. I know. Bah. The screaming. The Bah-ing. The part where she's not even holding a gun anymore, just pounding her fists. The fact that she decides <span style="font-style: italic;">her</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> character wouldn't go down</span> if she was shot. She'd just continue unloading Scarface-style on this unforgiving world until every last "bah" has been released from the chamber. The chamber in her mind.<br /><br />No offense to my grandma, but I wish this was my grandma. Instead, I have to settle for all the time I get to spend with her online. FOR EXAMPLE! This:<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzhydw2VqT-EfItQHMHU7ZdEw-GtnRtqkcu3X4_bQYxSPtdh0YG3n8kobutcS-coyV9EXKzieSdkVCK5VKOhw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0' /><br /><br />And this!:<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxkbbvLeCwMLTyUvBHFHVjk7UcyJY6Sv2vwbJLyA266fTMXHLR2J0MNqTA9Gk59EjDCXA51NrukZB3fGw-GRw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0' /><br /><br />Thank you SO SO much, web nerds. Bah is the new "blah." I can't stop saying it. I dropped my favorite double-walled espresso glass? Bah! I admitted having a favorite double-walled espresso glass? BAH! I'm at Benihana and the guy scared me by throwing a shrimp tail in my lap? BAH!!! But a happy bah. It really works for any occasion. Try it. Let me know. Bah. And just to show these other web nerds with eyes for true art didn't waste their valuable time (seriously these people probably make like a grand a day then go home and do this), watch these other tributes to the Bah Lady. You won't regret it.<br /><br />Bahbaranne: http://bahbaraann.ytmnd.com/<br /><br />She Could...Bah...All...the...BAH!: http://bahnfl.ytmnd.com/<br /><br />iBah: http://bahipod.ytmnd.com/<br /><br />Captain Ob(ah)vious: http://bahsheep.ytmnd.com/<br /><br />Nerd Synergy: http://theempirestrikesbah.ytmnd.com/<br /><br />The miracle of Bah makes it incumbent upon you to share these with the world. Spread it around. Bah.<br /><br />If you're a real hardcore fan, here's a music video she was in. Really. It's sans Bah, but I still love her in it:<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Kj0bOwK2DTU&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Kj0bOwK2DTU&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />I am a taste-maker.<br /><br />I am a bah.<br /><br />I am Ledgin.Ledginhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02225949607641172720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4994191185192875462.post-19258756830324877832009-02-27T10:37:00.000-08:002009-02-27T11:47:08.589-08:0025 Random Things About Memes (Part 2) (The Part Where I Write the Things)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/Sag-fqMKyiI/AAAAAAAABQ0/-U5vyFMoLUo/s1600-h/WarOfWorlds.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 206px; height: 152px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/Sag-fqMKyiI/AAAAAAAABQ0/-U5vyFMoLUo/s400/WarOfWorlds.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307560874478324258" border="0" /></a><br />Hmm...this is gonna be awkward. I wrote the 25 things. Is that okay?<br /><br />Here's what happened. I was getting notes about people's 'things' like four times a day, and then all of a sudden, like the aliens at the end of <span style="font-style: italic;">War of the Worlds</span>, they just inexplicably stopped attacking. No reason given, just something ridiculous about resistance to microbes, which made NO sense and seemed completely lazy. The movie, not the...anyway I hope it's not because I said something along the lines of "please stop sending me dumb things about your dumb life." I was just kiddin', bra!<br /><br />So here's goes - because a part of me I can't destory missed hearing about people's dumb lives - 25 things about your friendo, me.<br /><br />1) Before my Bar Mitzvah (JEW!), I sat down next to a stereo and listened to “Slam” by Onyx over and over again, and wrote down the lyrics so I could memorize them and sing the song like a Jewish badass when it came on at my party. I still know it. Just ask.<br /><br />2) I have trouble watching people brush their teeth, or seeing anything scrape against teeth. Even writing this makes me uncomfortable. Stop it, you gross mouth bones!<br /><br />3) The first time I got drunk I was home alone. I wanted to make sure I could "handle myself," so I poured a huge glass of Chivas Regal, held my nose, and downed it. I could not "handle myself."<br /><br />4) I shot a machine gun once. I completely destroyed a mound of dirt.<br /><br />5) I may or may not be on the terrorist watch list. On a flight to D.C. I was drawing a poster of a stick figure using a stick gun to kill stick figure Bin Laden. It was for a movie and I was using magic markers, but the crew reported the incident, and later admitted to me that "it didn't help that I'm kind of brown." True story.<br /><br />6) In 1996 I wore a leather vest, dance shoes, and bellbottom tights for my high school production of Pippen. It was totally worth it.<br /><br />7) I was banned from The Grove in for six months. It had nothing to do with being kind of brown.<br /><br />8) I have a mini Dachshund named Pickles. She’s lived with me on and off for four years. When we were in San Francisco she used to pee every day on the steps in front of the building I was living in. I feigned ignorance, but honestly, I knew it was happening. One day the upstairs neighbor totally confronted me and was like “Dude, is that all dried piss? That’s DISGUSTING. Seriously WTF?” And I was like “Is THAT what that is? I guess it must have been my dog! Man, I can't believe that!” It was a pretty low moment for me.<br /><br />9) When I first saw Al Gore in person he was telling a story and saying “And she says ‘That’s MY f**king job!’” He didn’t use stars. He said ‘fucking.’<br /><br />10) Dr. Phil tried to have me arrested over the phone. He was well within his right.<br /><br />11) Writing all these down I'm feeling pretty low about my ridiculous run-ins with the law. Maybe I should change my stupid ways.<br /><br />12) I have a rough beard.<br /><br />13) I like to dance at concerts. Like a goddamn mad man.<br /><br />14) I have a man crush on Dax Shepard. He’s so underrated!<br /><br />15) In Israel I was camping in the desert and I ran over a hill at night to pee. I ran right into a barbed wire fence.<br /><br />16) I don’t like wearing pants at home, and I can’t understand why anyone would. They're just to stop the rest of the world from seeing your privates.<br /><br />17) The one thing I cannot stand in people in double standards. For example I am always late, but will never get mad at others for being late. Isn’t that cool of me?<br /><br />18) I'm a b-boy Standin in my b-boy stance Hurry up and give me the microphone before I bust in my pants The mad author of anguish My language, Polluted Onyx is heavyweight (And still undisputed!) See, I told you I still knew it.<br /><br />19) Sometimes, when I'm listening to music and I know someone's about to come into the room, I actually change the song to make it seem like I was listening to something cooler. Often the first song was Dave Matthews.<br /><br />20) Once in a while I get an idea and convince myself that if I had the know-how to bring it to fruition I would be rich. This week, my idea is a ringtone where Beyonce sings "If you like it then you should have made a ringtone of it!" Anyone know how to make a ringtone? Anyone know how to make a ringtone and you are also friends with Beyonce Knowles?<br /><br />21) I went on a couple of dates with a girl that had gone to Columbine High School during the shootings there. I found that incredibly distracting. We'd be getting romantic and she'd say, "Why don't we finish these drinks and go into the bedroom" and then whisper in my ear what was gonna happen in the bedroom, and I'd say "So were they like, <span style="font-style: italic;">outcasts</span>??"<br /><br />22) Amy Fisher went to my high school. For some reason I still tell people that every time they ask where I'm from. It's so not a brag.<br /><br />23) I find that 99% of the time I'm listening to someone I am waiting for my turn to talk. I'm really working on upping that to 100%. Do one thing, and do it better than anyone - that's what Orville Redenbacher says. Or his grandfather said. Or...maybe I should start listening more.<br /><br />24) I have integrated "Bah" into my vocabulary. Find out why here:<br /><br />http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b9CK37sqoz0<br /><br />25) I am an excellent liar. In fact, none of these above things are even remotely true (!). Yes, actually they are all true. Nah, just some. Nope, ALL! See how good I am? The world is lucky I have chosen to use my powers for good.<br /><br />I am a giver.<br /><br />I am a random-thing-sayer.<br /><br />I am Ledgin.Ledginhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02225949607641172720noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4994191185192875462.post-4884465429391110312009-02-20T10:56:00.000-08:002009-02-20T11:50:08.670-08:00Eye PhoneWhen I first got an iPhone, I justified it by arguing "I'm condensing <span style="font-style: italic;">two</span> devices into <span style="font-style: italic;">one</span>!" The only time I use the word "device" is when I am convincing myself to buy something. I quickly realized that the real reason for having an iPhone is that it's easy to disguise yourself to a stranger as a douche bag typing away on your phone when REALLY you are a douche bag taking a photo of that stranger so you can post in on the World Wide Webby. Here are some photos I took of strangers I thought were weird and/or dumb-looking:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SZ8FRhE5DII/AAAAAAAABQE/z2WSJsXmltE/s1600-h/IMG_0056.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 260px; height: 347px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SZ8FRhE5DII/AAAAAAAABQE/z2WSJsXmltE/s400/IMG_0056.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304964684560534658" border="0" /></a><br />I caught surfer Nick Nolte in a deep sleep at the public library in L.A. Is there anything <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> hilarious about this guy? Does he honestly expect us to believe he got six hundred, ninety-nine pages into "The Star Wars Trilogy" and then thought "OMG, the Emperor is about to KILL Luke Skywalker!!! I could reeeally use a nap." Also, are those by any chance PIANO KEYS on your socks??? Spolier alert: they are!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SZ8F2UG1cbI/AAAAAAAABQU/tYxEQQaRcww/s1600-h/IMG_0068.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 260px; height: 347px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SZ8F2UG1cbI/AAAAAAAABQU/tYxEQQaRcww/s400/IMG_0068.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304965316734185906" border="0" /></a><br />You know what would really bring this outfit together? A completely different outfit. I am <span style="font-style: italic;">such</span> a bitch!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SZ8Gm5j2tAI/AAAAAAAABQk/Q1UvnCtrbxo/s1600-h/IMG_0059.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 260px; height: 347px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SZ8Gm5j2tAI/AAAAAAAABQk/Q1UvnCtrbxo/s400/IMG_0059.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304966151421735938" border="0" /></a><br />This, in my opinion, seemed a little disrespectful. Who would cut George Washington's arms off? The man is a <span style="font-style: italic;">hero</span> in the Jewish community.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SZ8FkK634EI/AAAAAAAABQM/mlqSAvN_Faw/s1600-h/IMG_0057.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 260px; height: 346px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SZ8FkK634EI/AAAAAAAABQM/mlqSAvN_Faw/s400/IMG_0057.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304965005030449218" border="0" /></a><br />Do you get it? Hit me up in the comments section if you get it. I'll give you a hint...no, that would give it away.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SZ8GPqxx6QI/AAAAAAAABQc/gLLUtIO_twM/s1600-h/photo%282%29.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 260px; height: 347px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SZ8GPqxx6QI/AAAAAAAABQc/gLLUtIO_twM/s400/photo%282%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304965752316619010" border="0" /></a><br />Love means never having to say "Do you mind if I rest my iPod Touch portrait-style on the spacey Indian muumuu covering your tremendous bosom and watch '30 Rock' while we share a set of ear buds and I try desperately to avoid crushing the person who got stuck with a window seat in our aisle." I wish I had this kind of joy in my life. I usually watch '30 Rock' alone. :(<br /><br />I am available for hire as a photo-journalist.<br /><br />I am Ledgin.Ledginhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02225949607641172720noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4994191185192875462.post-18236195133437216662009-02-12T10:14:00.000-08:002009-02-12T12:31:34.870-08:0025 Random Things About Memes<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SZSD8wM5dTI/AAAAAAAABPM/XWxqp5N8-N0/s1600-h/Facebook+Logo.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 143px; height: 54px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SZSD8wM5dTI/AAAAAAAABPM/XWxqp5N8-N0/s200/Facebook+Logo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302007741076305202" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SZSEATtt9sI/AAAAAAAABPU/YV8BR6NTbyU/s1600-h/FacebookGoingDown.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 108px; height: 108px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SZSEATtt9sI/AAAAAAAABPU/YV8BR6NTbyU/s200/FacebookGoingDown.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302007802148812482" border="0" /></a>It's been a slow month in America - across major industries, production is down; thousands of jobs are in jeopardy; heck, the GDP is MIA (!). No one knows how far down this rabbit hole will go, and that uncertainty has sent a generation of young people scrambling...to write 25 witty things about their dumb lives!<br /><br />Oh, Facebook, you had me pegged from the start. Often I sat by the old computer about to get some real work done - having reached a discernible end to my time-wasting activities (including at least nine viewings of the X-Box Bah Lady)...wishing...wanting something more that would allow me to waste the remains of my day. Along came you. You so tender blue like the Atlantic of my youth; you allowing me brag about all the cool Places I've Been; you making me laugh time and again at people who list "Tuesdays With Morrie" among their favorite books; you and your Fun Wall, Super Fun Wall and regular wall that was itself sufficient; your thoughtless gifts masquerading as thoughtful gifts. Glorious, stupid you.<br /><br />It was Super Fun while it lasted. Unfortunately, the gutter that runs along the road of history is littered with perfect ideas spoiled by imperfect us's: Communism. Hoverboards. Sex without a condom. A second season of John From Cincinnati (don't get me started). In the case of Facebook ('Casebook?' Nah.), the beginning of the end started long ago.<br /><br />Status updates, dude. Status updates.<br /><br />To wit. <span style="font-style: italic;">I don't give a flying fuck if you are "hungry for lunch."</span> Do you know how many zeroes and ones it takes to relay that message across the globe? PLENTY. Why in the name of Al Gore would you think for a <span style="font-style: italic;">second</span> about telling your 'friends' this? Are you hoping one of us will step up with a turkey sandwich for you? Because that is not how the Internet works. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Side note: I should really get in the zeroes and ones business.</span><br /><br />Even worse are the people who think that status updates are the appropriate place to discuss their personal woes. Lately I've seen an upsurge of messages like <span style="font-style: italic;">"John E. Goldberg is sick of all the lies and the bullshit!!!!!"</span> then twelve hours later, <span style="font-style: italic;">"John E. Goldberg is so sorry and ready to rebuild what once was."</span> Then later still, <span style="font-style: italic;">"John E. Goldberg is excited for new things."</span> Um. Hmm. STOP. Dude, I barely know you. And while it is certainly important that you are having very serious marital problems, it is even more important that I be kept out of it. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Side note: Maybe the reason you are fighting with your wife is that you POST YOUR PROBLEMS ON FACEBOOK!!! Just a thought.</span><br /><br />Another character I hardly know posted a cry for help, something like <span style="font-style: italic;">"Sean O'Malley is wondering if it's all worth it. He's no good to anyone." </span>Great. Kill yourself. Seriously, what am <span style="font-style: italic;">I</span> supposed to do, throw a sheep at you? Turn you into a zombie? We were in chorus together in 9th grade, I don't really feel like that makes saving your life my responsibility. Just tell me where the funeral is, and I will be sure to not make it.<br /><br />Lately, useless information about people I don't care about has been given a tremendous boost with the random "25 Random Things" thing. For real? One time when you were eighteen you <span style="font-style: italic;">hit a parked car and drove away without leaving a note??? </span>O.M. Motherfuckin' G. Get a life. And stop wasting mine.<br /><br />The thing is, it's not like I can just ignore these postings. Sometimes I stay on Facebook for hours refreshing the homepage over and over, waiting for new information about my real friends (<span style="font-style: italic;">did I just admit that?)</span>. It's part of my process for getting work done. I waste 99% of my day and then pretend that the remaining one percent is the result of much toiling and craftsmanship (To People I Work For - just kidding). But when people I was once acquainted with but are no longer relevant to my existence start adding all these Random Things into the mix, I get overwhelmed. Well, underwhelmed in the sense that they are usually boring/terrible, but overwhelmed by the work it takes to read it all. I cannot stop, so you must. Please.<br /><br />I am desperate to keep Facebook simple.<br /><br />I am begging you.<br /><br />I am Ledgin.Ledginhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02225949607641172720noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4994191185192875462.post-34958696002552936712009-01-30T23:43:00.000-08:002009-02-02T11:02:39.920-08:00Oh, BTW, I Have a Boyfriend!I have this friend. Let's call him...pathetic. Don't get me wrong, Pathetic has lots of friends, a promising career, a wine fridge; it's just that when it comes to the only thing that matters in this life (true love, <span style="font-style: italic;">duh!!!</span>) he's completely alone - probably forever (I know you're reading this, buddy - sorry, but yes - probably forever). But it's not Pathetic's fault. It's mainly yours.<br /><br />Think logically about how many personality traits need to line up for two people to be able to stand each other for more than one full hour. How humans didn't die vanish right after they stopped grunting and started saying things like "I have my feet on the ground with my head in the clouds - a walking contradiction!" is a wonder to me. When I hear something like that, I don't want to talk to, let alone have sex with a human for at least a week.<br /><br />So when you finally DO connect with someone - and I don't mean "<span style="font-style: italic;">we</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">both moved to L.A. after growing up in south Florida</span><span style="font-style: italic;">!</span>" connect - I mean " <span style="font-style: italic;">we both HATE Renee Zellweger as a person but LOVE her in movies!</span>" connect - <span style="font-weight: bold;">stop fucking around and start fucking each other</span>.<br /><br />I am baffled by the thousands of women in L.A. who have serious boyfriends that they hate. The fear of lonliness is so pervasive and effective that girls like this:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SYQR8Au-sPI/AAAAAAAABO0/naZXlsxD5IM/s1600-h/minka-kelly-picture-2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 123px; height: 159px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SYQR8Au-sPI/AAAAAAAABO0/naZXlsxD5IM/s200/minka-kelly-picture-2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297378784381415666" border="0" /></a>date guys like this:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SYdBvni0dUI/AAAAAAAABPE/xMrasRx7gDU/s1600-h/images.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 131px; height: 121px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SYdBvni0dUI/AAAAAAAABPE/xMrasRx7gDU/s200/images.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298275772949361986" border="0" /></a>Meanwhile, my sad friend with absolutely NO tentacles protruding from his neck (actually the more I look at this photo, there are some similarities) goes to sleep alone night after night, and will continue to do so until his death. Seriously, get used to it man.<br /><br />At the same time, I know you ladies have to pay your bills - your telephone bills, your automo'bills, etc. So I'm not gonna suggest that you STOP settling for Mr. Totally Wrong for Me But Pays for Dinner at Mozza. If I had to deal with maintaining a vagina I'd want to get some speck out of it, too. And I am a realist - I know that even though men have been throwing themselves at you since (before) puberty, it's just totally <span style="font-style: italic;">crazy</span> to expect you to now have the confidence to be on your own for five goddamn minutes. So instead, how about placing your standards for <span style="font-style: italic;">breaking up</span> with your bf as low as you set your standards for <span style="font-style: italic;">making</span> him your bf in the first place? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Example</span>: Hey look! It's my pathetic friend! <span style="font-style: italic;">You</span> like to laugh. <span style="font-style: italic;">He's</span> a comedian! Your current boyfriend sells ad space. <span style="font-style: italic;">You</span> like wine, and <span style="font-style: italic;">HE</span> HAS A FUCKING WINE FRIDGE! Your current boyfriend sells ad space! Time to move on.<br /><br />Are you not seeing this clearly? Why are you wasting your life??? DIDN'T YOU SEE BENJAMIN BUTTON?!!! Cut the boyfriend shit, and have sex with my friend. There's a 3-year-old Malbec with your name on it.<br /><br />I am convinced things need to change, or we may end up as unhappy as our parents.<br /><br />I am not optimistic about our odds.<br /><br />I am Ledgin.Ledginhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02225949607641172720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4994191185192875462.post-53428170177302240212008-10-24T20:09:00.000-07:002008-10-25T01:34:30.350-07:00Really? REALLY?? Yes, really.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SQKeHRC9qUI/AAAAAAAAA6c/o5b47Mh5agQ/s1600-h/Really.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 152px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SQKeHRC9qUI/AAAAAAAAA6c/o5b47Mh5agQ/s200/Really.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260941162394265922" border="0" /></a><br />Hey, you know what's funny? When someone does something you think is ridiculous or outlandish, and then you go "Really? REALLY?" You know how I know that's funny? Because Chandler used to do it on "Friends." And he was the funny one.<br /><br />Here's a follow-up question. Do you know when "Friends" came out? 1994. That means that if you are one of the people that at some point today said, "People are losing their homes all over the country, but there's a fundraiser to help Ed McMahon save his five million dollar mansion. I mean...<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">REALLY</span></span>?" you are making a joke that is at best fourteen years old, and at worst, totally annoying.<br /><br />Look, I get it. The "really?" thing perfectly captures the 'I'm smart and you're stupid' sense of superiority that we feel towards all other human beings. It says: 'Are you <span style="font-style: italic;">actually</span> doing what you are doing right now, or am I having a terrible, horrible nightmare? Because only the most <span style="font-style: italic;">retarded</span> dumb fuck <span style="font-style: italic;">moron</span> would be, in actuality, doing what you are doing. Please please please tell me I am in another dimension before my head explodes.' And I like that. Because it's true - the shit people try and pull with a straight face baffles me. Por ejemplo, I checked into a hotel in Las Vegas recently, and the clerk said to me (in her robot voice) "Just to let you know, your room IS on the strip side, right above a club, so there's VERY loud music playing until about six in the morning. Okay, I'll just get your keys..." Really?<br /><br />The problem is, having been co-opted by my generation and thrown willy-nilly at even the mildest aberrations from the norm, the incredulous cry of "really?" has become something you can justifiably say "really?" to. I don't know how it happened. Maybe it was when <span style="font-style: italic;">Weekend Update</span> started that kind-of-funny segment (called "Really?"). Maybe it was when Obama gave his "Yes We Can" speech and cynicism suddenly seemed SO 2006. Or maybe it was always annoying, and I have just recently gotten cooler. Nah...it was the Obama thing. So in the name of change we can believe in, let's all take a moment to reflect on the fact that an expression we often use to call out absurdity has itself become pretty absurd. And, that yes...<span style="font-style: italic;">really</span>.<br /><br />Having taken honors physics in 11th grade, I realize this will create an expression vacuum. So in its place, allow me to suggest an alternative. When someone does something ridiculous - something you cannot believe is being done by a member of your own species - just try saying this: 'You are stupid.' It totally works, and they will never see it coming. "Okay, I'll just get your keys..." "You are stupid." "You're right! I'll just switch you to one of our <span style="font-style: italic;">many</span> available non-DJ-booth-sounding rooms!" See?<br /><br />In short, please, stop with the really. You've had your fun.<br /><br />I am begging you.<br /><br />I am Ledgin.<span style="font-style: italic;"></span>Ledginhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02225949607641172720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4994191185192875462.post-18872241564960461572008-10-22T16:51:00.000-07:002008-10-23T15:19:43.633-07:00Netf**x<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SQD2GTR_-SI/AAAAAAAAA54/wsDbMLiaUNs/s1600-h/Netf**x.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6PVnFGph9uU/SQD2GTR_-SI/AAAAAAAAA54/wsDbMLiaUNs/s200/Netf**x.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260474952884156706" border="0" /></a>The people who own Netflix are smart, and I am stupid - that's what I've realized after three years as a frustrated customer (frustomer).<br /><br />Last night I watched <span style="font-style: italic;">In the Heat of the Night</span> on Netflix's recommendation. Although they were slightly off on what I'd rate it (<span style="font-style: italic;">4.6?? more like 4.5!</span>), it was a solid suggestion from one of my best friends slash logarithms. This morning, I slid the disc in its sleeve, packaged it up, and headed to the post office. Here's the weird thing: inside, I was full of vengeance and villainous bile. My inner voice was screaming "How do you like THAT, Netflix?! I'm USING YOU! Who's getting screwed NOW?" Me.<br /><br />How did Netflix manage to convince me that by actually utilizing the service I've paid them for, I am somehow winning? Do I really think that at Netflix headquarters, they're gonna be like: "Fuck. This Ledgin guy sent back another movie! Now he wants "Mad Men: Disc One" by tomorrow...(sigh)...we'll be out of business by morning." I wish. But it probably goes more like this: "..." That's the sound of no one caring, or even knowing I exist. Actually, it probably sounds more like this: "$$$" That's the sound of $19.17 a month coming off my credit card and into their pockets. But that seems like a fair deal for UNLIMITED rentals, right? Wrong you idiot. You forgot that I am lazy and wasteful. During one 11-month stint of not returning DVDs, I actually paid $210.87 to 'lease' three old movies. I totally liked Klute, but it wasn't worth seventy dollars.<br /><br />Most people I have questioned (<span style="font-style: italic;">Note: I have not questioned anyone</span>) have had a similar experience, forgetting about their membership while the charges kept coming. But that's not Netflix's fault. They've literally made things as easy as possible. YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE TO LICK THE LETTER. The Netflix con is mental, not physical. They make you believe they're pitting you against them, when really it's you against you. Never return your movies? Great, they win. Return all of them every day? Awesome, they still win - and you're pathetic.<br /><br />So what can I do, go back to Blockbuster? Of course not. I still have their copy of <span style="font-style: italic;">The China Syndrome</span> sitting under my bed from four years ago, and I'm sure they charged me $20 for it. And I'm not doing THEIR mail-in service, because then I'd be saying I was okay with the fact that they screwed me with absurd late fees and crappy retail stores for years, and then when Netflix came around, went "Oh yeah. THAT'S the best/cheapest way to do things. We were kidding about the last two decades." You were not, Blockbuster.<br /><br />I am stuck with Netflix. Canceling now would be like pulling all my money out of the stock market during the low point of the financial crisis - things just HAVE to turn around at some point, right? Eventually, I HAVE to be able to watch enough movies to make up for those 11 months...RIGHT?<br /><br />I am confident that the fundamentals of Netflix are strong.<br /><br />I am a loyal frustomer.<br /><br />I am Ledgin.Ledginhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02225949607641172720noreply@blogger.com0